


Go To Hell For Heaven's Sake

by Explosivewafflez, FallenAngel_Destiel69



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Bottom Dean, Bottom Dean Winchester, Dean's Soul, Demon Deals, Demon Sam Winchester, Doctor Dean, Evil Sam Winchester, F/F, F/M, Hunter Dean, M/M, Medical Patient Castiel, My First Destiel Fanfic, Soldier Dean, Sub Dean, Top Castiel, Warrior Castiel, Wing Kink, Winged Castiel, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4708964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Explosivewafflez/pseuds/Explosivewafflez, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenAngel_Destiel69/pseuds/FallenAngel_Destiel69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After failing to save his younger brother Sam, Dean Winchester grows up to become a psychologist at Lawrence Psychiatric Ward. He finds comfort at the bottom of a bottle and spends his nights waking from nightmares filled with fire. What happens when a Schizophrenic case (something Dean has refused to take on during his career), Castiel Novak, is forced upon him by his boss? As Dean works to unravel the enigma that is Castiel, he begins to realize something isn't right about his new patient... or himself. What happens when Dean begins to have knee-jerk reactions to defend himself, no longer needs his reading glasses, and finds a black tattoo over his heart one morning? Castiel says it's in his blood, and Dean doesn't like the sound of that. There's a war coming, between Heaven and Hell, and Dean finds himself right in the middle of it. He's been asked to lead the attack, and slay the demon leading Hell's army-known only as the "Boy-King."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Schizophrenia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When we received him last night, we did our routine physical exam. We recorded his height, weight, and he cooperated without issue. When we moved on to the body inspection we had him remove his clothes. We discovered that sixty-percent of his skin is scar tissue.”

3:00 a.m. on the dot, every night, was the time Dean Winchester kept gasping for air in the dark. It was the nightmares that never failed to wake him and leave him shaking in a cold sweat. He often left himself a glass of water on the nightstand beside his bed for these moments.

Dean reached across the length of his bed for the water. Gripping the glass with clammy hands he downed it in one go. With a satisfied sigh he set the empty glass back on the nightstand and worked to steady his racing heart. Dean’s eyes burned with fatigue and he knew it was more than likely for him to maintain the bruises beneath his eyes he’d been sporting for the past month.

Dean rubbed the side of his face. “I’m good. I’m good.”

Though Dean did not believe his own words. He kicked the rest of the blankets off of him, feeling feverishly warm. He used to love heat, but ever since the nightmares being too hot made Dean sick to his stomach. It wasn’t his fault all he saw was fire behind his eyes when he woke like this. Dean rolled onto his side and squeezed his eyes shut, wondering when the dreams would end.

The next time Dean came into consciousness was when his alarm woke him somewhere around ass o’clock in the morning. He groaned and reached for the wailing alarm. He slapped at the clock several times before he managed to silence it. Dean stretched, popping bones into place during the process. He gazed at the ceiling, bleary-eyed and mind fuzzy. Then he recalled the nightmare and shivered. Dean stumbled from his bed and into the bathroom without a second thought.

He took his morning piss, brushed his teeth and brushed his hair. He ran a hand through his brownish-blonde locks so that it wouldn’t appear so flat, then returned to his room. He opened his closet where a variety of suits waited for him. He picked the charcoal grey blazer and pants with the belt that matched. For the shirt he chose a white long-sleeved button-up and a striped blue and white tie. When he finished dressing he grabbed a slice of pie from his kitchen then snatched his briefcase from the counter and hurried to work.

Lawrence Psychiatric Ward greeted him with the same dull, concrete walls like it did every morning. Dean was glad he stopped for coffee on the way to the ward, because he didn’t think he could brave the day without the caffeine to clear his head.

“Good morning, Dr. Winchester.” Hester, an attractive blonde receptionist, beamed from behind her desk.

Dean returned the smile. “Mornin’.”

Hester called in the security office to buzz Dean into the ward. He waited in front of the polycarbonate glass doors, looking around uninterested about the lobby. No one was in here today, which wasn’t unusual. Not many people came to visit patients who were sick enough to land themselves in the ward of Lawrence, Kansas. When the shrill beep blared through the entrance the doors parted for Dean to enter.

Dean took the stairs to the second floor where the offices were located, sipping his coffee as he went. He set down his briefcase on his mahogany desk then seated himself in his leather swivel chair. No sooner than Dean unlocking his briefcase did a knock on the doorframe draw his attention.

Zachariah, an older man who was half-bald (save for barely white hair on the sides of his head) and also Dean’s boss, smiled at Dean. “Morning, Dean-o.”

“Morning. What can I do for you?”

“Ah,” Zachariah strolled in. “Well, I have a new case for you. He arrived last night.” Zachariah tossed a manilla file beside Dean’s briefcase.

Dean gave his boss a look of confusion then opened the file. His eyes landed on the picture of a thirty-year-old man with cobalt blue eyes. Dean read the name. _Castiel Novak_. He kept reading until he found the diagnosis. _Schizophrenia with religious undertones_. Dean glanced up at Zachariah who had been watching Dean. “Why are you giving me this case?”

His boss appeared to mull over the question as though he were selecting his words carefully. “I figured since you’re one of the few specialists who has personal experience with this type of illness that you were the most qualified.”

Dean locked eyes with Zachariah and closed the file. He slid it across the desk. “I don’t take Schizophrenia cases.”

Zachariah smiled coldly. “I wasn’t asking. I expect a full report on my desk by the end of the day.”

Dean clenched his jaw and forced himself to take a deep breath and release it through his nostrils. He pinched the bridge of his nose trying to calm himself. When his breathing was normal again, Dean plucked a pair of black framed glasses from his briefcase and pulled back the file from the edge of the desk. He began to read the notes of previous psychologists.

_First admitted at Sioux Falls Mental Health Facility November 19th, 2010 at age 25 for Schizophrenia. Does not respond to antidepressants, shock therapy, hypnosis, and various medication. Patient is a diagnosed sociopath, insomniac, and yields a schizoaffective, paranoid subtype. Schizophrenia symptoms include: hallucinations, religious delusions, disorganized speech, aggression, and strange behavior. Patient has exhibited various forms of self-mutilation (see photographs). Do not engage in religion. -Dr. Jody Mills_

Dean flipped the page. His mouth parted in horror at what he saw. Carved into the smooth skin of Castiel’s chest was sigil of some sort. Dean had never seen anything like it. It was a perfect circle with a small triangle over it. Surrounding the circle were smaller symbols the same size as the triangle. Some of the symbols looped like cursive Ls or were lowercase Zs. Inside of the circle to the left began a capital T that struck out to the right at an angle where it was supposed to end. From the new angle the line went straight down until it shot back to the left like a backward L. It was similar to the letter T connected to an unfinished acute triangle. Dean’s hands shook hard enough that he had to close the file.

“Pull it together.” Dean muttered, allowing his face to fall into his hands. _This isn’t like **him**_. He thought, but it did nothing to calm his frayed nerves.

“Dr. Winchester?”

Dean lifted his head.

Anna, the head nurse, regarded him with a concerned expression. “I’m sorry, is this a bad time?”

“No, no. Please, come in. Get the door, would you?”

Anna shut the office door and took a seat in the chair on the other side of the desk.

Dean feigned a smile. “What’s the word?”

“Zac found me in the halls and said I should speak to you about the new patient.”

“Son of a-” Dean paused to take a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Dean,” Anna softened her eyes. “It’s a difficult case and one you’re being forced to do. It can’t be easy.”

“How did you…” Dean trailed off.

“Everyone knows you don’t take Schizophrenia cases. When Zachariah told me to debrief you on the new patient I knew either Hell froze over or he ordered you to take the case.”

Dean folded his hands and rid his features of any dead giveaways to his emotions. “What can you tell me about the patient?”

Anna smoothed her red curls down and began. “When we received him last night, we did our routine physical exam. We recorded his height, weight, and he cooperated without issue. When we moved on to the body inspection we had him remove his clothes. We discovered that sixty-percent of his skin is scar tissue.”

Dean immediately grabbed the photo of the sigil carved into Castiel’s chest and handed it to Anna. “What can you tell me about this?”

Anna peered at the photo for a moment before handing it back. “Well it’s no longer fresh, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s scarred now.”

Dean glanced at the date in the corner of the picture. It was taken the same day Castiel was admitted five years ago. “Did he say what the symbol was?”

Anna shook her head sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Dean, he didn’t. With all do respect, you’re the one with his case file. My medical staff only deals with a patient’s physical health. If anyone is going to have answers it’s you or that file.”

His eyes flickered to the folder in his hands. Dean swallowed the bile in his mouth and ran a hand over the file. “That’ll be all, Anna.”

She frowned. “Dean-”

“ _Thank you_ , Nurse Milton.” His snippet of words were callous and eyes cold to convey the conversation was over.

Anna pursed her lips, but pressed no further. She rose from the chair, exiting the room.

Dean spent the rest of his morning like he would any day; sessions with regular patients, paperwork, eating his pie between breaks, but today he also studied his new patient’s file. What he found both intrigued and disturbed him.

He was intrigued because Castiel didn’t look sick in appearance. In his past experiences, most people who required inpatient care had a look about them depending on what their illness was. Some had sunken, tired eyes. Others were deathly pale in complexion, while some could be skittish or just have poor hygiene. Castiel didn’t have any of those external symptoms. His picture on his case file showed a face with steady, calm eyes and a complexion with color. However, as Dean read further through multiple doctor’s accounts on Castiel’s psychosis it was their notes that disturbed him. Who was Castiel Novak?

It was four o’clock by the time Dean was finished reading over Castiel’s information. He’d been stalling, but his work day was coming to an end. Patients had a curfew at seven that took place after dinner which occurred at six. Dean was out of time.

He wandered into the halls until he was back at the first floor heading for the nurse’s station. He popped his head into the room by the doorway, eyes scanning the area for Anna. Her ruby red hair was a dead giveaway-an easy beacon to spot no matter the place. When she met Dean’s eyes she walked over.

“I’ll see him now.”

Dean glided back to his office to wait while Anna retrieved Castiel. He pulled open one the drawers of his desk and reached for his tape recorder and notebook. He picked up his black ballpoint pen and flipped to a fresh page. He titled the top of the page with the patient’s name and wrote the date in the right hand corner. A knock on the door caused his heart to pound.

He cleared his throat. “Come in.”


	2. Psychosis in a Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How does it feel to be a Fallen Angel?”
> 
> Silence.
> 
> “Lonely.”

It was a joke among professors, or anyone else you told that you wanted to study psychology. _Don’t work with them for too long, you might just catch their crazy!_ Dean never worried about such a thing, and why would he? He was twenty-eight years old, fresh out of college as some would say. He graduated with his doctorate degree in psychology at twenty-five years old, just after getting a bachelor’s degree at twenty-two. He had a long career ahead of him with time and energy to spend.

When Anna entered the room she did not enter alone. Behind her a man with dark brown hair dressed in white inpatient clothes towered over her small, delicate frame. He was strong in built which was unusual for someone who had been in psyche wards for years, but was otherwise skinny. The familiar cobalt eyes from the picture were much bluer in person, if that was possible, and they swept across the room like a soldier surveying the battleground. Dean knew this look for one reason-his father had been a marine who did the same thing in new surroundings. Anna directed him to sit in the leather chaise lounge by the book shelf at the right side of the office. At a closer distance Dean could see the light stubble growing along his jaw. Dean flipped on the tape recorder.

“Thank you, Anna. We’ll be fine, isn’t that right Cas?” He smiled at the man who was already staring at him.

Castiel tilted his head at the nickname. Dean did _not_ find that adorable.

Anna nodded, shutting the door as she backed out of the room.

“I’ll tell you what Cas,” Dean clicked his pen. “I’ll let you call me Dean if you’ll let me call you Cas. Does that sound fair?”

“Hello, Dean.” Cas seemed to test the words on his tongue.

Dean nearly shivered at his voice, which was so _wrong_ because Cas was a _patient_. But in Dean’s defense, a voice that deep-that rich and smoky belonged

in the bedroom.

“Hello, Cas.” He offered a smile. “How are you feeling today?”

Cas didn’t answer. Instead he gave Dean a once-over he didn’t bother being discreet about. Dean’s palms sweated. It was enough that he had an illness Dean didn’t want to deal with, but now Cas was _checking him out_?

Dean cleared his throat. “Well, Cas, you’ve come a long way. Can you tell me why you were moved here?”

“I was given orders.”

Dean was surprised he got an answer this time, and didn’t miss a beat. “From who?”

“My superiors.”

He scribbled the information down in his notes. “And who are your superiors?”

“Classified.”

If his mouth quirked at the start of smile, Dean couldn’t help himself. “Alright, what were the orders then?”

“Change stations and wait for further instruction.”

Dean tapped his pen at the paper. “Seems pretty vague. I don’t think I’d be able to follow orders like that without some clarity.”

Vivid blue orbs locked with Dean’s green ones. “A good soldier follows commands. Disobeying orders gets members of your garrison killed.”

“Right, sorry my mistake.” Dean played along. Truthfully, the more they talked the less tense Dean became. He knew Cas was a patient, another looney bird in the coo-coo’s nest, but he was an interesting patient so far. “My Dad was a marine. I can relate. Orders are given for a reason. What can you tell me about Dr. Jody Mills? Did you like her?”

Cas gazed at the paintings on the walls. “Do you believe in God, Dean?”

Dr. Mill’s warning flashed through Dean’s mind. _Do not engage in religion_. But that warning went against everything Dean had learned in school. You had to get to the root of a problem with a patient, and the sole way to do that was to investigate. Investigations required questions that needed to be asked. What would happen if he did engage with Cas in religion?

“I believe there is a God,” Dean paused, staring at the same painting Castiel was currently looking at. It was a cross in front of lake where the sun was sinking beneath the water. “But I do not think he believes in us.”

“Do you enjoy fire?”

Dean’s blood froze in his veins. He made eye-contact with Castiel, unable to help how his eyes widened at the question. “W-what makes you ask that?”

“I was curious. Personally I find fire too… warm.”

Dean forced a laugh. “And water is too wet. I think that concludes today’s session.”

“As you wish.” Cas’s lips twitched.

Smiling. That fucker was _smiling_. Dean stood and crossed the room to open the door where security guards were waiting to take Cas to his room. Once Cas was gone and the door was shut Dean sank into his chair, his head pulsating. Fire. Of all the things Cas could have asked about-he asked about _fire_. Who does that? _No. Get it together. He’s just another crazy person asking crazy things. They all do that._ _There’s no way he can know about the dreams._ Dean reminded himself. It didn’t make him feel any better.

Without much else to do, Dean chose to get cracking on the heaping pile of bullshit he’d be serving Zachariah in his report on Cas. Dean finished the report somewhere around seven and emailed it to Zachariah. Dean gathered his things then headed out the door. He passed Zachariah’s office at the end of the hall.

“Dean!” He heard Zachariah call.

Stifling a groan Dean turned toward the doorway.

Zachariah grinned at him. “So how’d it go?”

The man was far too cheery for Dean’s liking. “I sent the report.”

“Good, good! What do you think of him?”

Dean shifted his weight away from Zachariah’s doorway. “He’s uh,” Dean struggled for a word. “Interesting… Can I get back to you on that?”

Zachariah smiled. “Of course.”

Dean drove home in his Baby, a 1967 Chevy Impala. The purr of Baby’s engine comforted him the further he distanced himself from the ward. He tossed his keys on the counter and dropped his briefcase beside them when he got home to his apartment. He loosened his tie, yanked it off, and removed his blazer on the way to his room. Dean exchanged the rest of his clothing for a cotton, black tank top and grey sweatpants. He walked back to the kitchen where he rummaged through the cabinets for a bottle of whiskey. With the bottle and a drinking glass in tow he moved to the living room couch. Dean flipped on the TV, pouring himself his liquor.

The television flickered on to a female anchorwoman. “Meteorologists are baffled by multiple hurricanes sweeping the west coast. They do not yet have an answer for these unnatural weather patterns, claiming that there is no scientific explanation.”

With a grunt Dean changed the channel to his favorite show, _Dr. Sexy_. He already knew the world was going to Hell. He didn’t need to see it to know it either. As he drank his problems from existence, Dean’s head filled with somber thoughts. A bright, smiling face of a boy with a mop of messy brown hair in his eyes washed up in Dean’s memories. He downed the remnants of his glass then started drinking from the bottle. He passed out that night, blood fueled with alcohol to drown the nightmares.

Sometimes Dean wished he could drown himself in his liquor too. He was grateful blacking out gave him a dreamless sleep, but waking up was a bitch. It would be so much easier if he was a resident to the infinite darkness for the rest of his days, but Dean did not get his wish-try as he might. The harshness of the morning sun leaking through the curtains landed on Dean’s face. Dean groaned from the carpet in front of the couch. At some point he must have rolled off the damn thing, which probably added to his headache. Dean picked himself up ever so slowly, barely enough to stumble to the bathroom. Upon entry he gained the urge to vomit. Dean used the next five minutes emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Minutes after he quit puking he was stripping. Dean crawled into the shower to wash off the scent of another night wasted.

Dean cursed when he glanced at the clock on his dresser after getting out of the shower. It was half past ten. He knew he was royally late and that Zachariah would have his ass for it later, but with a head-splitting migraine Dean couldn’t bring himself to care while he dressed. He climbed into Baby, slipping on a pair of sunglasses, and set off to work. When Dean parked he reached for the glove compartment. From inside it Dean snatched a couple of Alka Seltzer tablets then stepped out of the car.

“You’re late, Winchester.” Uriel, a fellow psychologist, sneered when Dean passed him in the hall to his office.

“Bite me, Junkless.” Dean barked.

The look on Uriel’s face was priceless. Screw being professional, Dean was already done with today. He’d deal with any consequences later-with one exception. Before Dean reached the second floor he paid a visit to the nurse’s lounge.

“Anna,” Dean called, halting in front of the lounge.

She smiled. “Nice shades.”

Dean ignored her. “Get me Castiel. I want this day done and over with.”

“Grouchy much?” Anna teased. “Fine, I’ll get him.”

By the time Anna was back Dean remained in the process of watching the Alka Seltzer tablets dissolve in his water. Castiel took the same seat as yesterday, seeming to already catch onto the routine.

Dean turned his tape recorder on. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.” Cas replied. “Pleasant dreams?”

Dean’s muscles tensed. When he gained control of himself he smiled, hoping Cas wouldn’t see right through him like Dean believed he was in that moment.

“Always.” Dean drank a few gulps from the water. “How are you feeling today?”

“I am utterly indifferent, Dean.”

Dean continued where he left off in his notes. “And why is that?”

“Angels don’t feel the way humans do. We do not have that luxury.”

Dean nearly dropped his pen. “You… think you’re an angel?”

“I am an Angel of the Lord.” Cas said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Right, right…” Dean wrote it down, but he had no idea how to reply. He’d heard crazier things in the two years he’d been working as a psychologist, but Schizophrenics never failed to leave him speechless. They weren’t like other patients who lied, made up stories, or had done crazy things. They truly believed what they said was the truth, and those were perhaps the most dangerous type of people. That didn’t apply to every person with Schizophrenia, but the things Dean had seen in a psyche ward made him wary of the illness. He studied Cas a second time.

He didn’t feel afraid of him. Sure, he asked questions that sent Dean reeling, but nothing about Cas felt threatening. His blue eyes were always gentle, like the sea in the calm after a storm. No matter how much Dean wanted to deny it, he truly didn’t mind Cas’s presence, not like he thought he would.

“How long have you been an angel?” Dean tried.

“Longer than you’d be able to comprehend.”

 _Did he just call me stupid?_ He shook his head. “Wow, okay. Then you think you can tell me a bit about Dr. Jody Mills?”

“She was kind,” Cas tilted his head in thought. “Highly inquisitive, and demanding at times. It was rather annoying.”

“But aside from that, we can pretty much agree she was a good doctor?”

“I suppose.”

“Now why would you get yourself moved if you had it good with Dr. Mills?”

“Orders.”

Dean held those careful blue orbs in place. “Cas, why don’t we play a game?”

The proposal did nothing to spark Cas’s interest. He replied with same monotonous voice. “What kind of game?”

“Twenty Questions with a twist. They’re all personal questions, but if you answer honestly then you can ask me a personal question too, and I’ll answer with the truth. We keep going until we’ve hit twenty.”

Cas scrutinized Dean. “Your methods… They’re different from the other doctors I’ve met.”

He smiled genuinely. “You’re different from other cases I’ve had.”

“That’s right.” Cas’s eyes darted to Dean’s. “You’ve never taken a Schizophrenia case.”

Dean swallowed. _He knows_. “What would give you that idea?”

“Staff and patients talk. It isn’t hard to listen. I believe that counts as your first question.”

“I-” He sighed. “Fine, fine. Ask yours.”

“Why don’t you take Schizophrenia cases?”

Dean chewed at the inside of his mouth. “Bad history that involves family.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it was vague. Cas accepted it with a nod nevertheless.

Dean removed the photo of the sigil on Cas’s chest from the file and showed it to him. “What’s this symbol mean?”

Cas squinted at the picture, whether that was due to vision issues or him deciding on an answer Dean wasn’t sure. “It’s an Angel Banishing Sigil. Do you live alone?”

“Yes. Why would you want to banish angels, Cas?”

“I was trapped and they were coming for me. I had to think fast. What’s your father’s name?”

“John Winchester. Wouldn’t banishing an angel banish you too?”

“Yes. Who was your mother?”

“Mary Campbell. Where are the other scars on your body from?”

“Battle, mostly. What are your nightmares about?”

Dean’s heart began to pound. “Why are you asking me that?”

“I believe that would be your sixth question if you intend to count it. And I ask, because every human experiences nightmares. I’m interested in what yours are about.”

It required all the self-control Dean had not to loosen his tie to let the air cool the sweat that was building on the back of his neck. “Fire. Why were angels after you?”

“I disobeyed orders. Why did you become a psychologist?”

“To help people. What did you do to disobey?”

Cas went quiet. “I saw something I wasn’t supposed to see. They came to punish me for it.” A moment passed before Cas asked the next question. “Do you have any siblings?”

Dean bowed his head. “No, not anymore.” He did his best to recover long enough to ask his question. “So, shouldn’t angels have wings?”

“We do. Your sight is limited, but I suspect that will change soon. Do you believe in monsters?”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Dean shook it off. “Sure, the ones inside our heads.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Dean laughed. “What? Ghosts, vampires, and werewolves?”

Cas nodded.

“No, those don’t exist.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Dean held Cas’s unwavering eyes. “I believe in what I can see. I’ve never seen real monsters aside from humans. Why did you ask me about fire yesterday?”

“I’ve gazed into many myself. The lake in your painting reminded me of them.”

Dean didn’t believe him, but he delivered his answer with such suave he couldn’t argue.

“Are you afraid of fire?”

The office drained of all noise for a period of time. “Yes. Do you have any family we can contact?” _Any family that will get you the hell out of here_.

“I assure you they are well aware of my... condition. I’m exactly where they want me to be. Do you have any other family?”

“A surrogate uncle that’s kinda the closest thing I have to a father. Why does your family want you to stay here?”

Cas lifted a single eyebrow. “Well, I am insane by your standards.”

“Duly noted.”

“Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“To some extent.” _Fucking yes_. “It says here that you’re a sociopath, but you seem pretty chatty to me. Why is that?”

“Observing humans for thousands upon thousands of years makes the experience dull after some time. History repeats itself. We’ve long predicted outcomes that came to pass without need of any prophets.”

This guy had one hell of an imagination-Dean gave him props for that.“So what you’re saying is that you’re not interested in talking to anyone.”

“If that’s how you would like to interpret it then yes.”

Dean nodded. “Alright then, I can work with that. Would you say that you’re bored?”

“I suppose that’s accurate enough. I didn’t get to ask my question,” He stopped Dean from continuing. “Where’s the fire in your dreams from, Dean?”

The words startled Dean. He never put much thought into it. What he does know is that he wakes up terrified from thinking he’s going to burn and blocks it out-locking it up in his mental vault. “To be honest, I’ve never thought about it and I try not to. What do you dream about, Cas?”

“I don’t.”

Dean frowned. “Everyone does.”

“Angels don’t sleep, Dean.”

“Right.” He let it be. Dean didn’t want to take the risk of upsetting Cas. He was already learning so much about him.

“What’s your religion?”

“Don’t have one. What’s yours?”

“Religion is a human concept. There’s no need for one when you’re an Angel of the Lord. Is helping the mentally insane your way of redeeming yourself?”

Dean was ready to flip his desk and sprint from the room. “What… Why would you-”

“You’re obviously carrying a heavy burden that includes fire and a sibling. I wonder if you blame yourself for their death.” He mused.

Dean wanted nothing more than to punch this son of a bitch. He didn’t know anything. He was assuming, and goddammit Dean hated when people assumed things about him, whether they were right or not.

“Do you blame yourself for being crazy enough get thrown in here?” His voice turned harsh.

“I blame myself for not following orders, yes. I had no control over what punishment would be given. Tell me, is this penance working?”

“Yes.” Lie. “Now you tell me, how does it feel to be a _Fallen_ Angel?”

Dean instantly regretted the venom in his words when Cas’s gaze dropped. “Lonely.”

He couldn’t let it end there-he couldn’t. Dean could act as cold as he wanted, but he had a heart.

Dean softened his voice. “Why are you lonely?”

Cas’s eyes returned to Dean’s. “You’re out of questions.”

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but the door pushed open.

Anna offered a weak smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but it’s lunchtime for Castiel.”

Cas stood then paused at the door frame. “Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean stared dumbfounded as the door closed. He flipped off his tape recorder, wondering if everything that had happened was real. He rewound the tape.

_“How does it feel to be a **Fallen** Angel?”_

Silence.

_“Lonely.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! We saw your comments and we decided we'd whip up another chapter! We hope you guys like it because we really enjoy writing this AU. If you liked this second chapter and want us to keep going please say so :) feedback is much appreciated. We love you guys! ~Mickey and Patty


	3. Behind Blue Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean watched Anna walk away. Something didn’t feel right about her responses. They felt… wrong. Rehearsed. Dean’s gaze flashed to the departing backs of Cas and the guards. Then again, he could be catching the crazy.

Something unusual was hiding behind blue eyes. Dean knew it-it was a gut feeling. He tried to reason with himself that Cas’s illness was to blame. It was something that hit close to home, and that’s what had shaken Dean up and thrown him off his game. For the duration of the day he barely paid any attention to the rest of his patients. He scribbled notes here and there while they talked, but nothing of true importance. As much as he would like to, he knew he couldn’t pin the blame on his hang-over. This was much bigger than that.

On his lunch break Dean wandered into the cafeteria where patients were eating. Dean flirted with one of the chefs, a cute brunette girl who rewarded him with a slice of cherry pie. He carried the white styrofoam box out of the cafeteria, but lingered when he spotted a familiar figure.

Cas sat with a tray in front him, plate filled with food, though he didn’t touch it. His attention was focused on staring out the barred window. The midday sunlight bleached his features, making him appear as though he were surrounded by white, angelic light. Perhaps he was an angel in his own way. Dean allowed the fleeting thought until he reached his office.When Dean opened the box and raised his fork, his eyes caught sight of the phone on his desk. He shoveled the piece of pie into his mouth as he dialed.

A gruff voice answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, Bobby. How you been?”

“Well ain’t it nice to hear from you, boy! Thought you mighta fell off the deep end. Gave me damn near heart attack trying to find you! Mind callin’ every once in a while?”

Dean rubbed the side of his face with his free hand. “Yeah, Bobby, I’m really sorry about that. It’s just, I needed to sort some things out after college. I’m sorry I didn’t call very often. When I landed this job last year I just sorta threw myself into it, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that. Just promise to keep in touch.”

“I promise.” Dean affirmed. “Missed you, Bobby.”

“Enough of that sap,” Dean heard the sound of a bottle being cracked open. “As glad as I am to hear from you, what makes you call now?”

“There’s uh… I got my first job as psychologist at a psyche ward back home in Lawrence. It’s been good this past year, I’m one of the best they have and it pays well but…

“But what?” Bobby. “You catchin’ the crazy over there?”

“No, nothing like that. There’s this new patient. Ever since I become a psychologist I’ve sworn off taking any Schizophrenic cases because of-you know what. But my boss, he assigned me to him and I’m off my game, Bobby. I don’t know what to do. If I try to drop this case I’ll lose my job-I just know it.”

“Do you _want_ to drop the case?”

“I-” Dean thought about it. Did he? Cas was pleasant to be around if Dean considered the other patients he’s had the past year. On the other hand, Cas’s illness made him panicky because he dragged forth feeling of the past, but Cas wasn’t threatening in any way. Cryptic questions? Sure, but then again that could be Dean’s paranoia acting up. “I don’t know.”

“Then stick to it until you do. If you decide you don’t wanna take the case, don’t take it. Screw the job, boy, you deserve to be happy. You’re young with a long career ahead of you. You’ll find a new job in no time.”

“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right. Hey Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

Dean smiled. “Thank you… for everything. When we didn’t have anywhere to go-when Dad left you were there. You raised us like your own. I can’t thank you enough for that.”

There were a few seconds of silence. “Yeah well, someone had to set you idgits straight.”

He laughed. “Goodbye, Bobby.”

“Stay safe, Dean.”

An immense relief flooded over Dean when he severed the call. He needed that talk. Dean felt a sense of renewal he didn’t think he would have found by himself. The morning Dean made sure he arrived at work early. He was going to take Zachariah’s cockiness and shove it up his ass. Dean wasn’t going to run away from this case. He was going to _own_ it.

Dean plopped into the chair on the other side of Cas’s table and looked at him with a cheeky grin. “How you doin’, Angel?”

Cas glanced at him warily. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes shot to Cas’s untouched breakfast. “You should think about eating.”

Cas muttered something unintelligible under his breath. “What are you doing here, Dean? Don’t therapy sessions take place in your office?”

He shrugged. “I feel like being spontaneous today. Do me a favor and roll with it?”

Cas nodded. “If that’s what you desire.”

Dean paused, noticing how empty the table was. “You’re really not a fan of making friends, are you?”

Cas scowled, but said nothing.

“How do you feel about spending the day in the garden?”

“That is a privilege for patients who aren’t a threat to themselves or others. If memory serves correct I’m not a model patient.” Cas deadpanned.

Dean smiled. “Lucky for you, I can override that.”

Moments later Dean and two security guards (standard protocol) were outside in the back garden of the psyche ward. The guards stayed posted by the back doors while Dean sat in a lawn chair on the patio taking notes. It didn’t take long to give up on notes once Cas started following a honeybee around the garden. Dean couldn’t wipe the smile off his face for the life of him. It was difficult to believe a man following a honeybee was the same man who carved a symbol into his own chest.

While Cas wandered about the flowers with his new friend Dean found himself sketching in his notebook. It started as scene of the garden where Cas was watching the honeybee, but as time lapsed Dean slowly incorporated him into the drawing as well. Dean barely realized what he had been doing until he was finished. With a snort he added one last touch.

“Hey, Cas! Come over here for a sec!”

Cas reluctantly left the honeybee. “Honeybees are quite majestic, Dean. Did you know if they ever went extinct, human life would cease to exist?”

“I think I heard that somewhere, but hey check this out-” Dean turned his notebook for Cas to see it. “You like it?”

The sketch in pen showed a detailed, realistic drawing of Cas in the garden. The final detail Dean had added was a pair of wings protruding from his back with a halo over his head. Cas went very still when he saw it. Dean was about to ask what was wrong when Cas finally smiled. It was small, appreciative, and a little amused. “That’s very nice, Dean.”

Dean felt his face burn. He muttered a thank you before closing the notebook.

“Although, my wings are bigger than that.”

Dean chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

The words surprised Dean. Did he intend for there to be a next time?

Dean coughed. “We can stay out here for a while longer if you’d like, but we’ll have to go in soon.”

Cas’s face fell. “Can we come back tomorrow?”

There were a thousand things Dean could respond with. He should have told Cas no for starters, that he had to work with Dean in order to gain privileges like this, but looking at Cas’s hopeful face he couldn’t say no. “Yeah, I don’t see why not.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Another hour passed before the guards reminded Dean that Cas’s lunch would be starting in a few minutes. They trudged inside where Anna passed Dean a knowing smile.

“That was very nice of you, Dean. I’ve never seen Castiel show any emotion since he’s been here.”

Dean shrugged it off. “Gotta get him to trust his doctor, right?”

He left the cafeteria and headed to his office where he sat down to do paperwork. Dean put on his reading glasses and searched for a pen. As he moved Dean felt a pain in his eyes. When he looked at the paper the words were unusually blurry. Dean removed his glasses, the pain abruptly stopping, and let his eyes fixate on the paper. The words were crystal clear. Dean rubbed his eyes-not believing what he was literally seeing. There was no change when he took his hands away. Dean tried putting the glasses back on. The print became muddled once again and the pain in his eyes returned. Dean pulled the glasses away. He could see without them. Dean folded the frame slowly and tucked the glasses into the pocket inside of his blazer. He didn’t know what to think. Surely his eyes must have improved? That happened to people sometimes, right? Yes, that had to be it.

Dean chose to call it a night when the clock read 9 p.m. He was tired and it was two hours past patient curfew. Dean had been right about Zachariah. As punishment for his tardiness Dean had to work unpaid overtime to fill out updated reports on _all_ of his patients. Dean wanted to tell Zachariah where he could shove it, but Dean loved his job despite his bad days. It wasn’t worth losing it over his own fuck-up. Dean had trouble sleeping that night though. The nightmares were getting worse.

Sometimes they were different in the way they started. Sometimes  Dean was standing in front of Indiana Psychiatric Ward, the building being engulfed in fire as Dean watched helplessly. Other times Dean was standing in the middle of the burning ward as nurses and patients ran through the fire searching desperately for a way out. Sometimes, he watched his brother scream while he burned. This time, Dean was surrounded by a wall of fire gaze locked with blue eyes on the other side.

Dean woke with yell, drenched in sweat. He rolled over to his side shaking uncontrollably. Ragged gasps tore through his throat, but they did nothing to fill his lungs with the oxygen they needed. Dean thought he was going to knock back out from oxygen deprivation, but his panic attack subsided. The blankets had fallen off Dean and laid on the floor, but the coolness of the air wouldn’t help Dean. His skin was unbearably hot. Dean stumbled into the shower, ripping his clothes off in the process. He switched on the water, turning the knob as far as it would go to the cold side. Dean sank to the bottom of the shower floor. It was 3 a.m. and he was a wreck.

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

“Huh?” He blinked.

Cas’s face was lined with worry. “You aren’t yourself today.”

Dean shook his head. The movement pained him. He’d had  raging headache all morning. He knew he shouldn’t have come into work today.

“It’s barely been a few days, Cas. You don’t know what’s me and what’s not.”

“I highly disagree. I’m very perceptive.”

That brought the twitch of a smile onto Dean’s lips, but he was too exhausted for a full one. He glanced at the clock in his office and felt guilty. At least ten minutes of the session Dean had spaced out. Cas hadn’t even been talking. Dean simply shut down after their usual greeting.

He ran a hand over his face. “Cas, buddy, I’m sorry. I’m just not in it today.”

“You should go home, Dean.”

He sighed. “I can’t. I’m already here, might as well finish the day off.”

“Would you…” Cas hesitated. “Would you like to talk about it?”

A full smile stretched along Dean’s lips. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

Cas tilted his head. “Not today.”

Dean sighed and shut his recorder off. He’d probably erase the tape later, nothing useful had been recorded. “I keep… I keep having these nightmares.” He laughed bitterly. “I’ve had them for years actually, ever since I lost my brother. Someway or another, there’s fire involved. I wake up screaming, and I can’t stand when it’s too warm. I can’t drink anything too hot. I can’t have too many blankets. Last night it was so bad I had to take cold shower at three a.m. Ha, funny thing too-I always wake up at three a.m. Why do you think that is, Cas? I know the psychology and science behind it: three a.m. is the hour when you’re in the deepest sleep level-the REM sleep stage, but it’s getting out of control and the science doesn’t help.”

Cas hummed pensively. “If you’d like the scientific version-I’ll tell you that you’d be most vulnerable to your subconscious thoughts during REM sleep. It’s the one place you can’t escape the things you hide in the deepest part of your mind, and if they have been haunting you for all these years it means you haven’t dealt with them. You haven’t put them to rest.”

“That’s nothing I haven’t already thought of. I tried dealing with it. I tried talking to Bobby about it. I went to school and made a life for myself. I tried moving on and the dreams still haven’t gone away.”

“Maybe it’s guilt… or something else.” Cas murmured the last part.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Something else?”

“You won’t like it.”

“Try me.” He had no options left. Cas could spew whatever crazy he wanted, Dean didn’t care anymore.

“Three a.m. is known as Lucifer’s Hour, but most humans refer to it as the Witching Hour. It’s the mocking hour of Jesus’s death. Christ died at three p.m. Lucifer chose three a.m. to unleash his demons on the world.”

“And so what? Demons are messing with me?”

Cas frowned. “I wouldn’t go that far, but if I’m right… Your soul could be tapping into the energy of Lucifer’s Hour.”

Dean held up his hand. “Okay, wait, my _soul_?”

“There are souls specifically chosen to defend humanity from the evils of the world. When the time is right they begin to awaken.”

“And you think I’m one of them… because of a nightmare?”

Cas shrugged.

“Points for creativity, Cas. Points for creativity.”

He leaned back. “Either way, Dean, you can only carry something inside you for so long until you break. It was just a matter of when.”

Dean’s eyes penetrated holes in the his desk. “I’m not broken.”

“Don’t feel bad, Dean,” Baby blues seemed to plead with him. “Humans are a box with ‘fragile’ written on it.”

It was insane, but Cas’s insanity was oddly comforting.

“Thank you, Cas. God, I’m a bad doctor, aren’t I?”

“Not at all. Every being is flawed, and there is no shame in  that.”

Dean breathed a small laugh through his nose. “I would have thought and angel would think differently. You know, preach righteousness and all that.”

“Some do,” Cas added thoughtfully. “They’re fools.”

They spoke mindlessly for the rest of the session. They talked about the weather, about the staff, and about food. When Cas admitted he had never tried pie Dean nearly lost it, vowing that he’d bring Cas pie tomorrow.

“Goodbye, Dean. I hope your dreams are more pleasant tonight.” Cas said when Anna came to take him.

“Thanks, Cas. You too.” He smiled half-heartedly.

When Dean went to bed that night, his dreams were not his own. The nightmare started per usual: he was surrounded by fire as the psyche ward around him burned. The difference was as Dean fell to his knees with his hands to his ears, trying to block the screaming, a hand clamped down on his shoulder. In a flash the burning psychiatric ward was gone. In its absence was a lake in the middle of a forest. Beneath Dean were wooden boards of a doc. Dean slowly removed his hands from his ears. He raised his head to the presence beside him. Cas surveyed Dean’s face. For what? Dean didn’t know.

All he felt was immense relief and utter confusion. “What are you doing in my dream, Cas?”

Cas stared at the water. “Peaceful, isn’t it? I’ve only been here a handful of times. I wish I would have come here more.”

Dean thought it was odd for his dream-Cas to be dressed in a suit and khaki trench coat, but that was the least of his worries. “Cas, how is this possible? I’ve never broken from that dream since-”

“Since your brother? I’m aware of that. Consider this a kindness-a thank you if you will.”

By now Dean had risen to his feet. “For what?”

Cas looked him in the eyes. “For being a good doctor.”

They stood in a comfortable silence for who knows how long. They watched the water, listened to the wildlife in the forest. They didn’t need words and Dean didn’t need an explanation. He’d take this one night of bliss if that’s all he got. When Dean woke, it was to the sound of his alarm clock. He never even stirred throughout the night.

Dean stretched with a groan, popping a few bones into place. He stared with disbelief at his ceiling that was lit by the morning light. He felt rested, a feeling that had been foreign to him for years. Never once did Dean think it was possible to feel this way again, but here he was. For the first time since his brother, he slept through the night.

On his way to work he wondered if it was worth mentioning to Cas. Dean wanted to tell him about the dream, but how would he even approach the subject? _Hey, Cas, the damnedest thing happened last night! We watched a lake in my dream and you were wearing a trenchcoat! Pretty weird, huh?_ No. Hell no. That wasn’t going to pan out well. He’d made his patient even crazier.

From the first floor hall, Dean heard a familiar deep voice shout. “Stay away from me!”

Dean’s eyes widened. He didn’t give a second thought to running towards his patient’s yell. In the cafeteria Cas pointed a makeshift shank in Anna’s direction. She held her palms up in surrender and stared at him with a calm face.

“Castiel,” She soothed. “It’s okay, just give me the weapon. We both know that won’t work here.”

The words did nothing to easen Cas’s grip on the metal.

“Cas!” Dean called.

He turned to Dean in surprise. Dean hadn’t meant for it to happen, but that moment of confusion was all the guards and Anna needed to disarm Cas and pin him to the floor. His strangled cries pained Dean in a way he didn’t think possible.

“Dean!” Cas’s eyes pleaded with him from the floor.

Dean rushed over.

Anna cut off his path. “Don’t, Dean.”

“What the hell happened?” He spat.

“You saw it for yourself. He had a weapon.”

He ran a hand through his hair in distress.“How the hell did he get his hands on a weapon?”

She shrugged. “How should I know? He wasn’t on twenty-four hour watch. It happens sometimes.”

Cas struggled as the guards hauled him from the cafeteria. He trashed less, like he knew it was pointless, but didn’t want to go out without a fight. Dean could relate.

He eyed Anna distrustfully. “What set him off?”

“I don’t know. Anything will set off the crazy. You should know that.”

Dean watched Anna walk away. Something didn’t feel right about her responses. They felt… wrong. Rehearsed. Dean’s gaze flashed to the departing backs of Cas and the guards. Then again, he could be catching the crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated! Thoughts and opinions count! We love you <3 -Mickey and Patty

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! It's Mickey (Explosivewafflez) and Patty (FallenAngel_Destiel69)! This is our first ever AU and we really hope you like it! If you would like us to continue, please let us know in the comments!


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